I hate rain, really hate it. I am in shorts, t-shirt, and low grade body-armor. Not exactly warm clothes with a poncho on top. Although my joints and hand are waterproof, they do need a cleaning, as mud and rainwater are starting to leak into the seams. Water slides down my face and I wipe it away, Since breaking out of that underwater base, I have been soaking-wet, not bothering to wring out my clothes. 713Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRgGKy9ReOH
I have no clue where to go, or what to do. Hostile environment, low supplies, and no backup. Love it.
I hunker down inside an old bus terminal, pausing to eat a sandwich and think. Three rotting benches line the perimeter, trash and other leavings of civilization are scattered about. As I eat, I review my options. Can't stay in the city for long, best bet is to strike out along the highways and rivers to find smaller towns and buildings that will have better supplies. Occasionally a distant howl echoes through the abandoned streets and alleys. So many scenes of interrupted life. Cars with broken windows where their occupants crawled out, gas stations looted of food, shoe prints left in the mud.
The rain is starting to clear, so I may head out out soon. As I finish the last bit of crust on my sandwich, it blazes through my mind. Prints... All the ferals I have seen didn't wear shoes, and the ones in that base tore theirs off. And... those prints are fresh.
I get up, and walk back into the rain to where I had seen those footprints. I keep close to the walls and stay low, not wanting to run into any ferals. Soon I come back to the trail that I had crossed. Stamped into the combined sludge of spilt oil, mud, and paper refuse. one slip advertises a 15% discount on some sort of soft body-suit. The ad calls it a "Snuggie". What the hell was wrong with these people? It has no practical use, and looks like it would just get in the way of accomplishing anything.
I am not here to critique idiots, so I focus on the tracks. Definitely boot prints, carrying a heavy load based on the depth, and fairly fresh because the rain hadn't distorted them much.
This dumps a decision into my lap. Is it worth it to find possible survivors and join up with them or take my chances in the wilderness. They could have a camp and supplies, and could be looking for a new teammate. They could also be hostile, but I'm Genesis so planting a few bandits wouldn't strain me too much. Worse comes to worst, I kill them, take their food, and let them feed the ferals.713Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwiTM9Q4Xa6
Gotta love Mother nature and all her little recyclers.
I spun around and drew my .45 and chambered a round. "Who said that?" I bark, but not too loudly.
Me, the voice in your head. Want a cigarette?
Crap, I got voices in my head that talk to me, the definition of crazy, and what's a cigarette? Figuring that a good use of my time would be to follow the tracks while diagnosing what is in my head, I do so.
Okay, voice in my head, what do you want?
After a moment of silence: I am supposed to help you. I can't explain it all to you right now, but I am here to be a second brain for you. I am a cybernetic auxiliary personality that lives thanks to all the empty memory in your head. I can access computers and electronics around you, process and sort information, invent strategies, and be a loving and warm personality to talk to.
"So you're a computer in my head? Why haven't you been around before?"
I am not a computer, I am a cybernet-
"I know what you are! You sound like a computer to me, so you are a computer as far as I am concerned. Why are you in my head now and not when I was back with the Pax? My pack is gone, I don't know where I am, and I don't want to die anymore!"
The last outburst leaves a weight sitting atop of my stomach, threatening to crush my spirit and perhaps bring up my sandwich. I force myself away from what might happen and back to what is happening. The tracks were still steady, and had been joined by two more. Definitely humans and not ferals, the discarded wrapper of a protein bar proves that.
I just woke up, and am still accessing my stored data. It seems that the hardware that provides me was prematurely activated. I am sorry about the situation, and my impotence concerning it. So much of my systems are incomplete, and I have little intel provided.
But... I have an idea. If you could be so kind as to stop next to that light-pole, I might be able to hack the camera grid if it's still viable. We may be able to see what is ahead.
It looks like the time has come for the voice to pull its own weight around here, so I park next to the pole and gulp down some water from one of my bottles. While I drink, a part of my mind feels almost like it is lifting out of my head, very otherworldly and surreal.
After two minutes of waiting, I'm bored. "Hey computer, are you done?"
It feels as if a weight slid directly through my skull and melded with my brain.
For the last time! My name is not computer!
'So what is it huh?"
I... I don't know, that information is not in my files.
So make a name, you sound like you can do it all, so why not that?
Ok then, my name is Omni.
"Omni, what is that supposed to mean?"
In an old language, it means: All. The empire that the language originates from also created the name that is yours: Marcus. It is called the Roman Empire and its language is Latin. All of Red Pack have roman names. Some of them were important and famous people in their time.
"Ok, cool. Did you get in the grid?"
Yes I did, many cameras are no longer recording, but many more continue to work.
I point in the direction that the footprints are going and tell Omni to see if the group is ahead. While he is busy with that, I continue to follow the trail at a jog. The rain is lifting and sunlight is beginning to peek through the clouds.
Two small feathered animals fly out of the sky and land on a string of cable that stretches along the road, suspended from poles standing over the concrete. They are about the size of a grenade and their chirrups and squeaks lift my spirits. The mud does not cover everything, so occasionally Omni has to point me in the right direction when gaps appear.
Birds. They are called birds. and they are closer to baseballs than grenades. What is wrong with you?
"What's a baseball?"
Ok, you know what a hand-grenade is, but you have never seen a bird? Who was responsible for your training, for it is patchy at best? Fifteen years and you don't know what a bird is?
The birds suddenly lift off, maybe they can hear annoying computers.
"No I don't know what a bird or a baseball is. Never seen or heard of either before. And fifteen years for what?
You are joking right? The required years of training for a Genesis to conduct individual operations is fifteen years from the beginning of the process. Stop in front of that window Marcus, I need to see you.
The window Omi meant was one of the few intact panes looking out over the street. it was the clear face of some sort of a clothing store, the contents fraying and consumed by mold. The glass passes for a mirror, and while I look inside, Omni looks outside from it. Way in the back of the store, something catches my eye.
You are a child! What are you doing out here!?
I ignore the insult, as whatever is back there in the store moved. Its hard to see since there are no lights inside, and the sun is creating tricky shadows. I try to focus harder and shade my eyes with my hand.
A blur moves through the window, before it shatters into my face and a bloody glass-speckled feral slams me into the ground. It rears up over me and screams a ragged cry into my face. Bood leaks from its body as the result of crashing into a pane of glass and landing on the debris. I nail its jaw closed with my ripjack, the blades puncturing through skin and bone.
But unlike its cousins in that base, this feral continues to persist, answering my attack with a hand that scores my cheek with its nails, and another that jerks my blades out of its skull. Blood now gushes onto me, and I buck and try to knock the cannibal off of me.
Omni screams that more are coming across the city. This statement is punctuated by me ripping the feral off and firing from the hip at more that crash through the storefront. Smooth glass suddenly ruptures and sparkles into a million sharp diamonds as the now-dead feral's packmates show up to the party.
I twist on the ground and bear crawl up into a sprint, glancing over my shoulder to see that more are coming down the street.
Mud and paper trash scatter in my wake, and I try to keep along the course of the tracks that I had been following. Mindful of the fact that I will have to shake the ferals off before I can reach the source of the footprints, I try to run between wrecked cars and even taking detours. Omni keeps me informed of my location to the footprints, and several times kept me from running into more packs of ferals.
I am just beginning to tire when I come to a railroad track. Omni informs me that an automated train is supposed pass in two minutes, and the footprints disappear here. Safe bet is that they use the system to get around.713Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKiEgcBuTCv
I stop to catch my breath by the track, and prepare to face off against the ferals until my ride comes. My gun flashes and ferals drop one by one until they are too close. My ripjack lashes out as my other hand crushes bones in its metal gauntlet. One minute left. It had better be on time.713Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEFhMddxQt7
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